Saving Grace
by ohcEEcho
Summary: Preseries, Weechester!Fic. A bath time discussion with Sammy makes Dean realise that perhaps life isn’t so bad, after all.
1. Bubbles and Brothers

**A/N: Random plot bunny that just wouldn't leave me alone…just a little peek into the daily life of the Winchester boys way back when. **

**Summary: Pre-series, Weechester!Fic. A bath time discussion with Sammy makes Dean realise that perhaps life isn't so bad, after all. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the right to squee. **

**Dean is eight, Sam is four. Much soap and Wee!Brotherly banter. Enjoy!**

**Saving grace**

"You're doomed, John Winchester! Rawr rawr! I am the spirit of the undead zimbie!"

Seven in the evening. The time when the news came on and all the little children were being tucked into bed.

Well, all the normal little children. In a dingy motel room on the outskirts of a small town, Dean Winchester sat absently prising flakes of peeling paint off the motel room door with the Swiss army knife he had been given for his birthday. A compact, smooth-folding bunch of differing blades fitted together with and in-laid (fake) mother of pearl handle.

It was his second favourite birthday present, which was odd considering he had only received a grand total of two presents overall. He wasn't entirely sure how a crudely carved lump of wood (or 'protection tail-man' as Sammy had so proudly deemed it) with a wobbly circle and a few lines could mean more than a breathtakingly swish knife, but hey. That was the magic his little brother weaved.

"That's what you think, you evil crea…um…thing! I shall get out my shotgun and shoot you dead!"

Sammy was at that moment contenting himself with one of his weird little 'let's pretend' games. With an old handkerchief with buttons sewn on for eyes in one hand and some kind of action figure in the other, he was enthusiastically re-enacting one of the many 'ghostie-hunts' that he was not allowed to go on, much to his displeasure.

"Ha ha! You shall not defeat me, evil spirit of the long gone zimbie…uh…zom…dead guy!" Sammy said heroically in his deepest voice, brandishing the action figure at the cowering handkerchief. Dean rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the smile forming at the corner of his mouth as his little brother made the action figure chase the terrified Spirit of a Dead Guy across the bumpy planes of the carpet.

"Dean."

Dean's head snapped up at the sound of his Father's strained voice above Sammy's babbling, and quickly stood, making his way carefully over the scattered toys to the small desk in the corner. John Winchester looked at his eldest son through exhausted eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dean eyed the many lines in his Father's once carefree face, marred by the harrowing weight of grief, and shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Yeah, Dad?" He said, quietly, drawing himself up and trying not to notice the half empty glass of something alcoholic on the desk and the sour quality of his Father's breath.

"Your brother's getting restless." John said in a flat tone, and out of the corner of his eye Dean saw Sam halt in his play and poke his head out from behind the armchair "I think it's time for B-A-T-H and B-E-D."

It was practise now that if anything was said that was inappropriate for little ears, it was spelled out so that said little ears could not understand. 'Inappropriate' ranged from cursing to discussing a hunt, but mostly for things that little ears did not want to hear and would most likely object to.

"I don' wanna go to bed. M' not tired." Sammy said mutinously, slamming the action figure's head against the floor with a curled fist. John blinked in surprise at his youngest son and raised an eyebrow questioningly at Dean, who shrugged.

"Sorry, Dad. He kinda figured the whole spelling thing out." He muttered, and his Father shot a wry glance at Sammy, who now sat with arms folded and a pout.

"Did he, now? Well, that's very impressive, son." Sammy deflated, then grinned "But that doesn't change the fact that you need to go have a bath and get into bed."

The response was immediate.

"But Dad, I don't WANNA!" Sammy exclaimed, jumping to his feet and stamping a little. Dean sighed, sensing trouble ahead as Sammy glared at his Father and John's expression grew stony.

"_Now._" He said, firmly, and when Sammy didn't move his brow furrowed further and said darkly "Dean."

Dean swallowed thickly, abruptly turned and headed for the bathroom, grabbing a violently resisting Sammy by the wrist as he passed him.

"Yes Sir. C'mon, Sammy. You can stay up a little bit later if you don't fuss, okay?"

His little brother immediately swallowed his protests and stopped struggling at this offer of compromise, and glanced up at Dean with slightly suspicious eyes.

"And you'll read me a story?"

Dean chuckled. Sammy was no fool; the kid knew exactly how to milk a situation for all it was worth "Sure."

"The one about the boy and his bucket of bread and the ducks?"

"Uh huh."

"And you'll let me play with your pocket knife?"

Dean grinned and shook his head, slamming the bathroom door behind them "Not a chance, kiddo." He wasn't falling for that old trick again.

"Aw, but Dean-"

Sammy, realising he had been thwarted, decided to try for a different approach. He let his face fall with heartbreaking disappointment, his large brown eyes widened and his lower lip trembled. Dean hastily looked away. He had fallen for the 'You-just-kicked-an-innocent-puppy-you-big-ol'-meanie!' face far too many times to not realise its surprising power.

"I said _no. _Not until you're bigger than I am."

"When will that be?"

"Not any time soon."

While his little brother sulked quietly, Dean set about preparing the tiny (and not exactly clean) bathroom for the cyclone of destruction that was Sammy. He had no clue how the kid managed to cause complete mayhem wherever he went, but he did, somehow. Dean grabbed the nearest grubby towel and laid it carefully beside the grey tub, scowling as he noticed the splinters sticking out of the wooden floorboards. He was glad he'd gotten his tetanus shots.

"Shoes." He said commandingly in Sammy's direction, and his little brother reluctantly plopped down onto the towel and began wrestling with his laces. Dean put the plug in the bath, turned on the taps and then crouched down to help him. "Ugh, look at this mess…it's all in a knot. I thought I taught you how to tie these properly."

"Bows are girly." Sammy muttered, pulling at the frayed edge of his jeans while watching Dean grapple with the lump of knots he had fashioned hastily that morning.

"Yeah, but at least then you can actually get the damn things off…ah!" Triumphant, Dean removed the shoe with a dramatic flourish, and Sammy giggled "Dean 1, shoes 0. Another win for the knot meister."

Sammy tilted his head to the side and wrinkled his nose, giving his older brother a bemused look. Then he grinned.

"Dean, you're weeeeeeeeird." He drawled, and Dean flicked his ear gently.

"And you're a bundle of oddness. Arms up." Obediently, Sammy raised his arms and Dean pulled the material of his pullover up until only a thatch of brown hair was visible. He tugged, but found the thing was stuck.

"He he…oops. Sorry Sammy, I've lost your head. Wonder where it went?" he wiggled his fingers in Sammy's side, and Sammy squirmed, giggling at the tickling sensation.

"Deeeeeeeeeeeaaan…." Came the muffled protest, and Dean yanked the itchy thing over Sammy's head with a quick tug, and breathed an overly dramatic sigh of relief as his little brother's disgruntled head appeared.

"Phew! Here it is. Everything present and correct?" He ruffled Sammy's hair "Nose snotty, ears attached?"

"Eww! I'm not _snotty_!"

"Sammy, if bogies were dollars then we'd be rolling in it by now. You'd be a regular little cash machine."

"That's dis…um…dis-just…disgusting, Dean!"

Dean just smiled, and leant over the bath-tub to dip his hand in the water, checking to see if it was too hot or too cold. Sammy came and leant against the edge of the tub and peered intensely into the water, as though trying to see something the very heat rising from the surface.

"Eh, whatever. I could do with some new clothes. Reckon if I make you sneeze some coins will come flying out?" Dean teased lightly, and Sammy's little hands flew to his nose protectively.

"_Ewwwwwwwwwwww!_" he trilled with a visible shudder, and Dean frowned as he noticed goose bumps rising up his little brother's bare arms. It was quite chilly in the bathroom, even with the door shut and the heat from the water.

"Alright, hop on in, snotty wonder." He said, grinning at the disgruntled look his little brother shot his way. Sammy scrambled over the smooth grey lip of the tub like a monkey, landing in the water with a resounding plop and a spray of water which splattered Dean's clothes. Dean sighed, rolled up his sleeves and fixed a smug Sammy with a beady eye.

"Sammy, that was not cool. Water in bath and not on me, got that? Bath good, Dean bad."

A devious glint lit up in his little brother's eyes, and he crouched down in the water like a sprinter poised to bolt. Dean immediately tensed and attempted to back up.

"Don't even-" Too late, as he was cut off by a jet of water smacking him in the face, and an eruption of triumphant giggles from his little attacker. Wiping the moisture from his eyes with cold precision, he grinned mirthlessly and dipped his hand subtly into the water, as Sammy swallowed his laughter to gulp nervously.

"Alright, little guy, you asked for it!"

Thus ensued a furious (and entirely unfair, considering Sammy had no clothes to get wet, and therefore nothing to lose) water fight, in which Dean allied himself with the shower head and Sammy bombarded his brother with wet flannels. Eventually their shrieks and war-like cries alerted adult ears to their play, and:

"**DEAN**!"

They froze, Sammy halfway through wringing out a flannel over Dean's lap and Dean brandishing the shower head over his brother's hair. Slowly, they turned their heads to look at each other, suddenly allied, and shared a sheepish glance.

"Sorry Dad!" Dean called, hastily replacing the shower head and frowning at Sammy "Now, see! You've made Dad mad."

"You did too!" Sammy protested distractedly, rubbing at his eyes with a fisted and slightly pink hand. In the bright glare of the bare bulb swinging from the ceiling, dark shadows lit up his round face and made him look almost gaunt, and Dean shivered suddenly. Sammy was breathing hard after the excitement of the water fight, his hair plastered to his head and dripping slowly into the still water.

"Ow." He murmured faintly, and Dean dropped down so he was at eye-level with his little brother, the cold fist of worry eating at his insides.

"What? What's the matter?" he said, sharply, quickly assessing Sammy for injuries. Had he been too hard on him? Dammit, he always did this. Took things too far, forgot that Sammy was only little and he had to be careful. Four years was a lot of time; it was four years Sammy hadn't been with him, four years with only Mom and Dad. And now, it was four years since Mom had been gone, since Dad had handed him his little brother in the heat of the fire, and for four years he had kept him safe. Sammy was his responsibility; Dad had said so. Dad trusted him to look after Sammy, and Sammy, too, trusted Dean not to hurt him. It was heavy, all that trust.

"I got soap in my eyes and it stings." Sammy muttered a little tearfully, looking so sad and wet and miserable that Dean felt immediately like a failure. But he buried the pain deep, pushed it down and fixed a reassuring smile onto his face.

"Oh, is that all? Let me see…" He gently tilted Sammy's head up so he could see his eyes, which were red with the irritation of the soap and welling up with cleansing tears. He brushed the sticky strands of hair off Sammy's forehead and grabbed a towel, dabbing carefully at his brother's skin while Sammy sat obediently still.

Once satisfied that Sammy had stopped squinting and blinking in pain he sighed quietly, the silence of the room seeming to swallow him whole.

"Better?"

"Mmm-hm."

Sammy nodded, scratching absently at his knee with a troubled expression marring his features.

"What's that face for?" He asked, and Sammy bit his lip and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his skinny arms around them.

"Did we really make Dad mad?" He murmured sadly, gazing at the door. Dean took a moment to retrieve a fallen flannel, dip it in the water and then begin scrubbing down the skin of his brother's shoulders.

"No, not really. He's just busy working and we were being kinda loud." He said, grabbing the soap and working some foam into the flannel before indicating for Sammy to turn. Sammy did so, a heavy silence falling over them as Dean scrubbed at his little brother's back, frowning at the clearly visible ridges of Sammy's spine. He had to get the kid to eat some more.

"Dad's always busy."

"Yeah, well, he has lots to do."

"And he's always mad."

Dean froze, took his brother's shoulders and spun him around again, wiping at Sammy's face perhaps a little more firmly than was necessary "Stop it, Sammy. That's not true."

"It is." Sammy muttered resolutely, and Dean chose to ignore him.

"Foot." He commanded, and Sammy slid back so the soles of his feet were visible. Dean blinked in surprise at the blackened appearance of his brother's toes, and raised his eyebrows as he reached for the soap "Man, squirt, I think you must attract dirt or something. How'd you get so grimy?"

Sammy shrugged, flinching a little as the flannel tickled his feet "Fell over at school today. That's how I got my knee beat up, too."

Dean's head snapped up, and sure enough, something large and red sat bulbous and ugly on the cap of Sammy's left knee.

"Let me see." He inspected it, prodding at the rough edges and trying to see if any dirt had gotten caught in the clot. "Wow, that's an impressive scab…like a war scar or something. Except the only thing you were heroically hitting was the floor."

"It hurt." Sammy muttered defensively, and Dean nodded in vague sympathy.

"I bet it did, kiddo. I'll put some antiseptic and a plaster on it before bed."

"But that stuff stings!"

"Or we could just let your knee go all mouldy and turn green. It's up to you."

Sammy muttered darkly to himself while Dean retrieved the shampoo from a nearby shelf. It was some kind of odd strawberry toddler gloop, which had been the last bottle left in a convenience store in the middle of nowhere. Ah well. Better girly and fruity than sweaty and smelly. Oh, wait. It was probably better being smelly…

"Sorry, Sammy, but today's a hair washing day." Sammy groaned "I promise I'll try and keep it out of your face, okay? But if you squirm around it'll only make it take longer." Dean considered Sammy's betrayed expression, and decided to sink to the levels of bribery "If you don't whine I'll take you to the park after school tomorrow. How's that?"

Sammy brightened a little, and nodded "Okay."

Dean watched his little brother curl himself into a tight ball and tense up, keeping rigidly still. Sammy absolutely hated having to wash his hair. He had told Dean it was because he didn't like the sticky feel or the foam running over his skin, but Dean had always wondered whether there was another reason. Nonetheless, it had to be done.

As he worked the gelatinous pink substance into his brother's skull he frowned, thinking. Once, when Sammy had been very little, he had had a complete freak-out when Dean had used some bright red shampoo to clean his hair. He'd screamed and yelled and flung himself about for an entire hour, and in-between the crying and the hysterical noises Dean had managed to decipher two words: _Mommy. Blood. _

He shivered, grabbed the shower head and instructed Sammy to close his eyes. As he rinsed out his brother's hair he recalled something he had overheard Dad say to one of his friends:

_It was horrible. For a moment, I thought everything was fine, but…then I noticed Sammy was looking up. There was blood on his face, Missouri. __**Her **__blood, dripping down from the ceiling. Jesus…but he was too young to remember, right? He'll be okay?_

"There, all done. Here." Dean murmured, far more gently than usual. Sammy peeked open his eyes and slowly uncurled himself, shivering despite the warmth of the bath. Dean sighed when he noticed Sammy had been biting down on his lip so hard he had split it right open. "Aw, Sammy. You idiot."

"Don't call me an idiot." Sammy muttered miserably, and Dean rolled his eyes "Fine, then you're a dumbass. Come on, get out."

Dean pulled the plug, and Sammy stood up a little shakily, still shivering. Dean hastily grabbed a nearby towel and leant over, wrapping it firmly around his brother. Sammy surprised him by wrapping his skinny arms around Dean's bent neck, clinging to him like he used to as a baby.

"It's c-cold. Lift me out." Came a muffled murmur from somewhere in the region of Dean's shoulder, and Dean a deep breath, let it out, then grasped Sammy under the arms and lifted him over the lip of the tub and lowered his feet to the floor. When Sammy didn't release his neck, Dean sighed, and briefly tousled the wet hair under his chin.

"Sammy, you need to let go now. You're making me damp."

Sammy drew back, and sniffled a little. Dean began towelling him down, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like bath time. It was too normal. Too much like his other life, before the fire, with Mom, when there was kisses goodnight and warm embraces and safety.

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing."

"No, come on. What is it?"

"It's silly."

"Then I'll try not to laugh."

Sammy peeked up at him behind a curtain of slowly drying hair, and hesitated, gnawing at his already bloody lip. Dean batted his hand away with a disapproving reprimand, then wiped the bloody lip and sat back, expectantly.

"At school, Miss Clancy taught us this new song, because we have song time at the end of the day…she said it was a bath time song for when you get out of the water."

"Sounds sissy. What's it called?"

"Um…Rub-a-dubby-dub, I think."

_Well, my little wet monster. Shall we scrub you dry now?_

Warm hands, pink skin and golden hair. Blurred. The sweet smell of vanilla perfume and baby powder. Her smile. The soft gurgles of a little brother too young to even speak or crawl or scream.

"Dean?"

Sammy's little face was right close to his, concern filling his kindly features. The raw emptiness of his Mother was suddenly swallowed with his little brother's presence, filling the gaping hole with purpose and love and responsibility. He smiled faintly, retrieved a small pair of clean but un-ironed pajamas from the corner and began dressing Sammy for bed.

"Yeah, I know. Mom used to sing it to me." He murmured, progressively working a row of buttons into small slits down his brother's chest. Sammy's face lit up with awe, and Dean felt suddenly guilty. He never talked to Sammy about Mom.

"Really?"

"Yeah. To both of us, every night."

"I don't remember." Sammy said, face falling, and Dean sighed and patted him on the head.

"I know."

"I wish I did."

"Hm."

"Dean? Can we sing the-"

Vanilla perfume. Loss. Hurt. Little brother.

"No, Sammy."

"Please? Just once? Everyone else got to try it."

"I've forgotten all the words. And look, you're dry now anyway."

"But I got you wet, and I can show you!" Sammy said enthusiastically, and before Dean could protest he tossed the still damp towel over his brother's head and began clumsily rubbing it back and forth. Dean sat still, and raised his eyebrows, and said warningly:

"Sa-mmy…"

But Sammy just grinned, his smile infectious, and began to sing with the uneven enthusiasm of one too young to fully understand loss and hope and the pain of remembering.

"Rubby-dub-dub, three men in a club-"

"Tub." Dean corrected automatically, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth even though there was a lump in his throat and the back of eyes were stinging. Why the hell did he feel like crying?

"-tub! Who do you think they be? The butcher, the baker, the…the…um…"

Mom was gone; and that hurt, a lot. Still, even after all these years. And yet, whenever Sammy was around, he found he could laugh, and have fun, and get angry and excited and sometimes even cry.

"Candlestick maker."

"Throw them out, throw them out, rogues all three!" Sammy finished with a flourish, giggling and rocking back and forth on his heels. Grinning, he poked Dean mock-accusingly in the chest "See, you _can _remember!"

Dean smiled sadly "I guess so."

Sammy's face fell seeing that something was bothering his big brother, and without invitation he plonked himself down in Dean's lap, staring up at him "Dean, why does talking about Mom always make you sad?"

"Because I miss her, Sammy. That's all." An uneasy silence fell, and Sammy fiddled with his hands while Dean cast about for something to do or say. After a moment Sammy piped up:

"Mom wouldn't want you to be sad." A maturity and compassion shone in his brother's eyes which surprised Dean, and he realised with a touch of sadness that Sammy was slowly growing up. That one day, he wouldn't need Dean any more.

"Mom's gone." He said, bitterly, and Sammy knelt up, protesting:

"But she wouldn't! _She'd _be sad if she knew you were sad. I know it." He crossed his arms, frowning reproachfully at Dean "Dad's always mad, and when he's not, he's sad, too. Although I can't remember, I don't think Mom would've liked it at all."

Dean sighed and replied absently "Maybe you're right, Sammy." Sammy, disappointed and somewhat hurt by his failed attempt to cheer Dean up slumped down in his lap and bowed his head.

"I'm sorry." He murmured quietly, and Dean blinked in surprise, leaning over to better see his little brother's face.

"For what?"

"That Mom's not here, and I am."

Dean felt sickening shock and denial and self-loathing fill his chest till he felt it would burst, and he grabbed his little brother by the shoulders and spun him round to face him, feeling inexplicably angry.

"Don't say that, Sammy." He said forcefully, and Sammy winced "Not ever. Understand me?"

Sammy broke away from his hold, face twisted with fright, and Dean ran a hand shakily through his hair. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, then opened them.

"Sorry. It's just…not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. Okay?" he said flatly, face emotionless, and Sammy hesitated before creeping back over to stand beside his brother.

"…okay. Dean?"

"Mmm?"

Warm little fingers curled around his palm, and Dean glanced down to see Sammy clutching onto his hand like it was his last lifeline. His little brother barely reached his waist and had to crane his head right back to look up at him, and Dean was struck suddenly with the revelation that Sam was not seeking comfort, but trying to _give _it.

"I don't want you to be sad, either." He said simply, his expression unbearably serious. Dean swallowed thickly, and briefly clasped his brother's shoulder.

"Well, in that case, I guess I'll just have to try not to be sad."

"Not just _try._" Sammy said, a glint of something shining in his eyes as he smiledtoothily _"_Do. Or else."

Dean laughed as the bath gurgled up the last of the bathwater with a slurp, and they walked together to the bathroom door "Or else what, little man? You'll beat some sense into me?"

Sammy curled a fist and whacked it gently into Dean's side, nodding furiously "Damn straight!"

"In your freaky dreams, squirt." He said, ruffling Sammy's hair. His stomach rumbled hollowly, and Sammy giggled "Hey, want some hot chocolate? I think there's still a packet left."

Sammy punched the air triumphantly, his face lighting up, and did an odd little dance before throwing his arms around Dean's middle and squeezing tightly.

"Alriiiiiight! Hot chocolate! You're the best, Dean!"

"Don't I know it."

As Sammy continued to babble excitedly, Dean looked up and caught his Father's eye. John gave his son a tired smile, and nodded, and they both turned their gaze to look fondly on the little boy Mary gave her life to protect.

Dean smiled. Life really wasn't so bad. Nope, not at all. In fact, sometimes, you might even say it was _good. _

**A/N: I was thinking of maybe continuing to write little snippets of the Winchester's childhood, so if you have any suggestions, comments, requests etc it would be appreciated, so please review!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker

**A/N: Wow! I can't say enough how amazed and touched I was by all the feedback! Mega thanks to all those who reviewed, it means a lot!**

**Summary: Pre-series, Weechester!Fic. Sam doesn't understand why people say Dean's the bad guy, when all he's ever done is good. (Dean is eight, Sam is four.)**

**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. Nope. Except a pre-order on the season 2 DVD and currently being closer to Jensen Ackles than I will ever be (he's in London at the mo, where I live).**

**Ok, ****sammygirl1963**** requested I followed up Dean's promise to take Sam to the park in the last chapter, so here it is! Hope you like it! **

**Saving Grace**

**2.**

**Butcher, baker or candlestick maker**

Sam Winchester sat quietly on a blindingly colourful little chair in the corner of an equally bright classroom, waiting with a patience beyond most children his age. He didn't fiddle, he didn't squirm, he just sat, staring out the window, eyes fixed upon the school gate just visible across the playground. On the wall above him, the clock shaped like a clown face leered unpleasantly at him, ticking far more loudly than necessary.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Sammy blinked. Tick. Tick. Tick. He let out the smallest of sighs.

"Mommy!" Came the shrill squeal of a girl about his age, as her Mother came hurrying across the playground and engulfed her in a tight hug. Sam straightened up a little, peering out at the woman's kindly face pouring love down upon her daughter. He swallowed, and looked away.

"Hi, sweetheart! Did you have a nice day?" The girl nodded, her long plaits bouncing about her head, no doubt braided carefully that morning by the Mother who now held her so close.

"Yeah! We made cakes and painted pictures and Miss Clancy read us that book about the bear!"

"That sounds lovely, darling. Ready to go home now?"

"Yeah!"

Sam watched them go, hand in hand, the little girl babbling excitedly while her Mother listened with genuine interest. He twisted his own hands in the hem of his t-shirt, and bit his lip, an odd heavy feeling filling his stomach. He wished Dean would hurry up and come.

"Sam?" Sam started as Miss Clancy, his teacher, poked her head round the door before entering "What are you still doing here, sweetie? Everyone else has gone." She asked, her voice sugary sweet, smiling down at him.

Sam looked up at her, frowning slightly. It wasn't that he disliked Miss Clancy. She was nice and pretty and friendly, but there was something…off, about her, too. She never spoke to him like Dean and Dad, like he was clever and old, but talked down to him like a little kid. And she was always giving him sad, pitying looks, like he was extra-specially stupid or something.

"Do you need me to call your Dad?" She simpered, her eyes shining and her voice too soft. Sam shook his head firmly, edging back a little in his chair when she knelt down and reached out to touch his arm.

"No. I told you, my big brother's coming to collect me." He muttered, his nose beginning to itch from the overpowering flowery smell of his teacher. He _hated _that smell. Not just because it was girly, but also because it was too strong. Miss Clancy patted his knee with a hand adorned with manicured, bright red nails, a condescending smile twisting her large lips.

"Maybe he forgot, dear. I really think-"

"He'll come." Sam interrupted abruptly, and was confused to find irritation and unease overpower him. The flowery smell and the offensively bright colours of the classroom were beginning to make his head spin, and he longed suddenly for grubby knees and torn jeans and the musty smell of well-worn clothes and old wood.

"I'm not sure it's very safe, Sam, dear. All the other children wait in class for their parents to come pick them up. Couldn't your Daddy come?"

Sam's brow furrowed. Only little kids still called their Dad _Daddy. _"He's busy. Besides, Dean's more fun to be with."

Miss Clancy made an odd 'O' shape with her lips, and sighed quietly, giving Sam a knowing look. Sam shifted uncomfortably, hoping he hadn't said anything wrong. Dad said he had to be careful how he spoke to strangers or the big bad men would come and take him and Dean away.

"But less safe, dear. Your brother is only…what? Eight years old? He should be off playing with his friends. Don't you think?"

Sam folded his arms carefully across his chest, and worried at his lip. Dean's wasn't _only _eight, he was really really really old. A lot bigger than Sammy, twice as big, in fact. He didn't like this stupid woman talking about Dean. Dean was part of the world outside of school, the safe place where there was warmth and familiarity. Not like here.

"Dean doesn't need friends. He's got me. He said so." He said, with the simplicity of a child unaware of the scorn of the adult world. It did not seem odd to him that his brother didn't like to play with other people. Who would want to play with some stupid big boy when they could play with their brother?

"That's a little selfish, Sam. Don't you think you should let your brother play with other children his age? And what about your friends?"

Sam shrank back from her, burrowing himself into the folds of his jacket. It was, like most things he owned, a hand-down from Dean, and its loose warmth around his shoulders made him feel a little better.

"I don't like the others. They're stupid and they don't understand anything." He murmured, thinking of all the bright-eyed cheery faced children in his class. He got along with them alright, he guessed. But they were often very loud, and very silly. They'd laugh about stupid things like poo and bums, and played boring games that couldn't compare to hunting pretend creatures with Dean.

"Listen Sam." Miss Clancy's painted face was suddenly very close to his, and Sam could see the flaking mascara and thick layers of eye shadow that made up her facade "I know it's hard for you, always being on the move, just you and your brother and your Father, but-"

"We're fine." Sam cut across defensively, glaring openly at her now. Miss Clancy smiled her infuriating smile and reached out to him again, and he flinched away, slipping off the chair and standing rigidly by the door.

"Listen." She soothed, and Sam shuddered "I know you love your brother. But he seems a little…unstable. You must understand, Sam, that your brother needs help. He's..." she trailed off, sighing sadly "We're going to talk with your Father, and-"

"No! Stay away from us!" Sam shook violently, hurt and anger and confusion raging inside of him like a war. He was scared. Would the bad men come? Would he have to go away? He wanted to go home. Oh God, he wanted to go home. And he wanted Dean so badly it hurt.

"I don't need a Mom! And I don't need your help! Dean isn't dumb or dangerous, he's my best friend and he's nicer than any of you will ever be!" He shouted, fists clenched and his legs feeling like jelly. How dare this stupid old bat say such horrible things about Dean? Why did they always look at him with such pity, and at Dean with such scorn? It wasn't fair! He hated it! He hated _everything!_

His heart pounding and his throat sore he turned tail and ran blindly out the door, squinting through the blurry haze that obscured his vision and made his eyes sting.

"Sam, get back here! Samuel!"

He stumbled over his own feet and cried out as he lost his balance and pitched forward, bracing himself for the hard impact of unforgiving gravel on his bare skin. Suddenly he collided with something solid yet soft, and a familiar voice exclaimed:

"Woah, easy tiger! What's the rush?"

He glanced up, wincing like a newborn seeing the world for the first time, and blinked in shock at the lopsided grin spread across the familiar freckled face of his brother. Dean tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, placing a firm hand on Sammy's shoulder and tugging him upright, grinning.

"_Dean_…" He croaked out, his throat constricting painfully as all the anger and fear and confusion overwhelmed him. Dean's smile wavered and his eyes filled with concern as Sammy took a deep gulping gasp of a breath, face scrunching up with misery, and abruptly burst into tears. He threw his arms around Dean's waist and buried his streaming face in his big brother's stomach, gut-wrenching sobs making him shake so hard he felt dizzy.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Dean exclaimed, more than a little surprised at this sudden armful of wailing brother "Sammy? What's wrong? Are you hurt? Feeling sick?"

Sam shook his head dejectedly into Dean's shirt, tightening his hold and only sobbing harder. Dean very carefully prised his brother from him and knelt down in front of him, taken aback at seeing Sammy so distressed.

"Hey." Dean said softly, putting a hand slightly awkwardly on Sam's shoulder, trying to coax his brother into looking at him "Hey, it's okay. Talk to me, squirt. What is it?"

Sam glanced miserably up at him, eyes red and swollen from crying, large tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. He opened his mouth, made an odd choking noise, and violently shook his head in frustration.

"Samuel?" Came Miss Clancy's voice as she came skidding to a halt round the corner of the building. Sam started, shot her a terrified glance and immediately ducked behind Dean's legs, fisting his hands in the baggy material of his brother's pullover. He took in deep, shuddering breaths, allowing the comforting smell of Dean to calm his senses a little.

Dean, meanwhile, shot his little brother an incredulous look. Then he suddenly turned to look at Miss Clancy, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What did you do to my brother, lady?" He said, his tone so cold and steely it cut through the air like a knife. Sam shrunk further behind Dean as Miss Clancy huffed and bristled, drawing herself up and looking down at Dean, her lip curling.

"Don't talk like that to me, Dean. I can see what Mr Parkinson meant when he spoke to me about your attitude."

She looked expectantly at him. Sam loosened his hold a little and peered around his brother's torso, nervously studying Dean's face. He didn't want to make Dean angry. Dean could be kinda scary when he got mad, especially at Sammy.

"I don't think you heard me right." Dean said slowly, with a dangerously delicate tone "I asked you," his features darkened, eyes burning with something deep and overwhelming, and Sam hastily ducked back behind his brother and braced himself "what-you-did-to-my-**brother**!"

For a moment, there was nothing but ringing silence. Dean glowered at Miss Clancy, the intensity of his gaze unwavering, and the teacher seemed taken aback and a little unnerved by him. As the silence grew suffocating, Sam found that he could stand it no longer.

"Said…" his thin voice faltered, and he swallowed, licked his lips and tried again "you were bad…" He briefly met Dean's gaze, recalling the anger and the hurt and the fear, and was furious as he felt his eyes well up again "Said…"

Dean's expression grew stony, and he looked, if possible, even more angry than before. Sam lowered his gaze and stared at his feet self-consciously, rubbing at his eyes with clenched fists. Stop it. Dean'll only get even more mad if you act like a big cry-baby.

"You think _I'm _a bad influence?" Dean spat incredulously at an extremely alarmed Miss Clancy "It's you who upset him so badly he's crying buckets, arrogant old bat!" Sam rocked tensely back and forth on his heels, trying to block out the considerable noise as Dean gave the ignorant teacher a piece of his mind:

"I've come across your type before. You all say that I should get my act together, smarten up, be a better person for Sammy to look up to. Well guess what. He already does; and he's learnt more from me and Dad than he could ever learn in your crappy classroom!"

Sam closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself, hopping form one foot to the other and biting his lip, hard. He winced as the tension in the air seemed to crackle.

"You, young man, are way out of line! I'm only looking out for your brother's best interests-"

"HOW THE HELL WOULD YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR SAMMY!" Sam flinched violently, and jumped back from Dean as his brother lurched forwards "DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME WHAT'S-"

"STOP IT!" Sam yelled, giving Dean and angry shove from behind. Dean pin-wheeled for balance, and shot him a sharp look with a mixture of astonishment and worry. Sam gnawed at the tips of his fingers, wary of all the attention he was suddenly receiving. Finally, he raised his eyes to look at Miss Clancy, feeling suddenly exhausted of life and all the people in it.

"Just…leave us alone." He said imploringly, and she blinked, taken aback at the resigned little boy who suddenly didn't seem so little "Why can't you leave us alone?"

After a moment, Dean huffed and squared his shoulders, his expression unreadable. "C'mon, Sammy. We're getting out of here." He abruptly spun on his heel, grabbed Sam's hand and began marching them away from the stunned Miss Clancy, Sam taking three hasty steps to Dean's lengthy strides. He didn't look back.

Sam shivered despite the lingering warmth of the day, and kept close to Dean's side as they walked, tightening his grip on Dean's so much that his knuckles turned white. Dean pretended not to notice. After a few minutes of purposeful walking Sam dared breaking the silence:

"Where we going, Dean?"

"To the park. Remember? I said we would go today. You still want to?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded uncertainly, the smile curling his lips feeling strangely foreign. He wiped his face and sniffed "Yeah, I would."

The park was nothing special, really. Just a small pocket of greenery in the middle of a dull grey suburb. It was pleasantly aged, the colours of the playground equipment dulled and the paved pathways cracked. Still, Sam enjoyed going there. It was one of the few things he did that everybody else did, too. But the best thing was that Dean liked going to the park, too, even though he would never admit it.

The gentle pace at which they walked and the comfort of Dean's silent presence soothed Sam's fraught nerves, and he drank in his surroundings with something close to contentment. The fresh, natural smell of the grass and the sounds of children playing and trundling wheels and all the comings and goings made him feel at ease with the world. Dean had made several subtle attempts to withdraw his hand from Sam's limpet-like grasp, but Sam simply shot him an imploring look and his brother rolled his eyes and relented.

Eventually they came to the edge of the playground in the centre of the park, a small square of tarmac with a couple of swings, a roundabout and a slide. They came to a halt beside the fence, which was peeling white paint, and Dean shook Sam's hand off and fumbled around in his jean's pocket. Eventually he withdrew a slightly grubby looking handkerchief, and leant down, pressing the piece of material to Sam's nose.

"Blow." He commanded, wrinkling his own nose as he eyed the gooey mess Sam had made of his face. Sam blew, scrunching up his face with the effort, blood rushing to his cheeks. Dean frowned, wiped the skin clean with two efficient strokes of the wrist and shoved the handkerchief back in his pocket.

"So." Said Dean, his expression neutral "You wanna tell me what all that was really about, Sammy?"

Sam had been expecting worse. A reprimand perhaps; maybe even scorn for being such a wimp about some dumb old lady. That's what Dad would have said. But Dean wasn't Dad.

"She was saying nasty things about you." He muttered sullenly, and Dean raised his eyebrows fractionally "I couldn't just let her, so I told her to go away and leave us alone."

Dean sighed, hesitated, then briefly tousled his little brother's hair, clearing his throat gruffly; by which he meant 'Thanks for caring, Sammy'. Sam understood. Dean didn't like getting all sappy with him. That was okay. Dean was big and tough and had too keep his 'game face' on. Or something like that.

"You can't go saying things like that, Sammy. You'll get us all in trouble."

The lightest of breezes tossed about them, struggling to shift the heavy, sweltering air. It had been a hot day, although now the sun was slipping closer and closer to the horizon a cool undercurrent had set in. Sam felt moved to say something, to express himself, justify his anger. He wanted Dean to understand.

"But I hate it!" He exclaimed suddenly, surprising both of them. Dean folded his arms and leant against the fence, frowning slightly.

"Hate what?" He asked, the silhouette of the branches of a nearby tree sending shadows dancing oddly across his face. Light and shadows, smokes and mirrors.

"The way they talk about you! Like you're some kind of stupid bully! Why can't they see that you're…you're…good?"

Sam's attempt to communicate fell flat, and he made let loose a snarl-like sound of frustration, and slammed his fist against the fence. Dean absently caught his hand and pulled it away from the peril of splinters, and tilted his head to stare out across the park at all the parents and children crawling back to their cosy homes and ginger-bread house lives.

"Because, to them, I'm not." He said, simply "I'm not the most fantastic of people, Sammy. I get angry easily. I don't work as hard as I should. I'm sarcastic and weird and scruffy. Why should they like me?"

Sam was scandalised, horrified that Dean could think such things of himself. It was bad enough hearing other people be mean about him, but this-!

"But you're my brother!" He exclaimed, as though this made the world wrong. Perhaps it did. "You're the best person I know! Who cares about all that stupid stuff? You're brave and kind and strong…how can that be bad?"

Dean's lips twitched in the hint of a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. Sam blinked, suddenly seeing not the invincible big brother he knew but a boy upon whom society poured scorn and distrust and hatred. He winced, feeling sick to his stomach, and glared about the park at the various neat, clean cut children who were so disgustingly 'normal'. And yet, somehow, cruelly, he envied them. Envied these people who despised everything his family lived for.

"They just don't understand, Sammy." The walls slammed up, and Dean was untouchable again. Sammy knew better, though. That brief glimpse of Dean's hurt would stay with him now, he was sure. "Alas, my brilliance goes ever unappreciated."

"It's not fair." Sam murmured, so quietly Dean barely caught it, and he let out a long, slow breath.

"I know, kiddo."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam wrung his hands together, shivering as the day seemed to grow colder and more threatening with every passing moment "Can we leave? Right now? I don't want to go back to that school or be in this town anymore. Please?"

Dean looked at him in confusion "But you're doing well here, right? Dad says your report's looking great. Apart from Miss Fancy-Clancy, you like it here. Don't you?"

Sam looked at his brother, and thought of all the things Miss Clancy had said. _They just don't understand. _They probably never would. Sam couldn't accept a world which couldn't accept Dean. "Not really."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not happy here." Sam said, simply "How can we stay? Besides, Miss Clancy said she was going to talk with Dad about you." 

A flicker of alarm lit up in Dean's face, but it was hastily covered by an abrupt change of topic "You wanna play on the swings or something?"

Sam eyed the creaking chains which held up the black plastic seats, swaying gently back and forth, and briefly measured the distance from the seat to the ground. He glanced sadly down at his short legs. Too high.

"My feet won't reach the ground." He muttered, but Dean rolled his eyes and lifted his little brother abruptly over the fence before vaulting it neatly.

"Then I'll push you."

Sam smiled properly for the first time that day "Okay."

_**To be continued…**_

**A/N: Sorry it was a bit short, the second half of this story should be up very soon! Thanks to everyone who gave suggestions and ideas, continue to send them in! Please review, feedback is love. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker 2

**A/N: Again, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! So, yesterday my BRAND SPANKING NEW SHINY PRE-SERIES COMIC came from eBay, and let me tell y'all, it's fantabulous! There's a really sweet story at the end involving Dean promising to teach Sam how to swim and a Wee!Chester hug! Plus, it's an OFFICIAL PRODUCT! (squees like the obsessive Fangirl she is) Ahem. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. But I will if Kripke doesn't bring Sam back godammit! I will march on his home! **

**Enjoy!**

**Saving Grace**

**3.**

**Butcher, baker or candlestick maker (part 2)**

The swing was rusty, and made a loud screeching noise as the joints strained, but Sam didn't really mind. He loved to swing. The long, slow sway up to the peak, when he kicked his legs in excitement and his stomach did a little whoop before he plummeted back down again. Before he could swing too far back he would feel Dean's hands on his back, pushing him forwards not too hard and not too soft. The wind rippled his t-shirt and tossed his hair, and he found himself grinning so widely his face felt like it would split in two.

After a couple of minutes, something bright across the other side of the playground caught his eyes. Looking over, he saw a small boy about his age pushing an apple-red bicycle along the tarmac path. Sam stared with open fascination. It had dark, unscuffed tyres and a gleaming silver bell attached to the handlebars. The dream present for any five year old boy.

The boy's father came trotting along in his wake, a long length of chain dangling from his hand and a bag on his back. Sam watched as the father chained and padlocked the bike to the railings, making sure it was secure, before retrieving a baseball bat and ball from the bag and taking his son's hand, leading him across the grass to a small baseball field which had been set up in a corner.

Once they were out of sight, Sam glanced over his shoulder at his brother.

"Dean, let me down."

Dean clasped his little brother on either side of his waist when he swung back, then carefully lowered the swing "You had enough?"

Sam eyed the bicycle hungrily, and shot Dean a mischievous half-smile "Sorta." He leapt lightly off the swing, grabbed Dean's wrist and lead them both across the playground towards the railings, eyes saucer-wide and intent.

"Sam? Where we going?" Dean asked, and faltered in his step when he noticed where they were headed. He eyed the bike, then looked down at Sam with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Sa-mmy…" He said, half in warning, half in longing. The sun was setting now, spilling a brilliant swathe of pinks and reds and yellows across the cloudy sky, casting long shadows which seemed to creep towards them. They stopped just beside the bike, and stood for a moment, silently admiring it.

"Can we…" Sam swallowed, and looked uncertainly up at his brother "Can I try riding that bike, please?"

He was going to ride it, that he knew. He just _had _to, because he wanted to, and just this once, he would get what he wanted. But he wanted Dean to be okay with it first. He didn't want to upset Dean.

"Sammy, that bike's not ours." Dean said, far more gently than necessary, and Sam wondered if he had done something wrong already "That boy will be back for it soon. Besides, it's padlocked to the railings."

It didn't matter. It wasn't fair; why did that stupid boy have a bike when he didn't? Oh, he wanted to ride it so much. Besides, he'd only borrow it awhile. Yeah. Sam quashed the twist of guilt in his stomach, and his face split into a grin.

"Got a paper clip?" Dean's jaw dropped, and Sam grinned wider, pleased with this reaction. Dean shook his head with disbelief, and glanced about the park, wary. Finally, he sighed resignedly, and fumbled in his pocket.

"It's at times like this I can actually believe we're related." He muttered exasperatedly, but Sam could hear he was pleased, too "Eh, screw it. Here. Up and at 'em, Houdini."

Sam snatched the paperclip eagerly, leant and down and began working at the lock. He teased the pointed end in gently, and laid his ear against the cold metal, listening, feeling for the pattern inside. Up. A ridge. No, two. Slight dip. Long sheer edge. Another ridge.

Sam gave a little gasp as the lock gave way, freeing the magnificent bike from its chains and making it no longer a thing only to see but also to touch. Suddenly, he felt overwhelmed, and glanced nervously up at Dean, who looked taken aback and slightly impressed.

"You're scarily good at this kind of thing, you know, Sammy?" He frowned, noticing his little brother's hesitant expression "What's the matter? Hop on. I'll keep look out."

Sam swallowed thickly, feeling a lump rise in his throat and a leaden feeling fill the pit of his stomach. The exhaustion of the day and the cool of the oncoming evening air made him feel drained, but not even that could completely sap his energy. A terrible revelation had occurred to him.

"I can't." He muttered miserably, and Dean rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Sammy, a morality trip _after _you've nicked somebody's possessions isn't exactly the most convenient-"

"No, I mean I _can't. _I don't know how."

Dean was about as oblivious as a blind priest in a strippers bar, and ploughed thoughtlessly on "What do you mean you don't kno-" He stopped dead, eying Sam's melancholy expression as he realised his brother's dilemma "Oh. Right." He finished, a little lamely.

Dean had been four years old exactly when he had first learned to ride a bike. He could still remember it, just about. In his mind's eyes he saw the gleaming polish of a bright yellow tricycle below him, Dad's beaming face, a large hand on his back pushing him gently while his feet worked against awkward pedals. At the end of the driveway huge brown eyes watched him in fascination, mouth slightly open and chubby cheeks rosy with the cold of March frost. Mom, face glowing with pride, applauding him as he trundled round and round in circles.

A world away from here. A time when play was toys and games and giggles, not learning to fight and pick locks and hold a gun.

"Dean?" Those same huge brown eyes, darker now, older, and a little face still recognisable as that of a child "Could you teach me?"

"Sammy, it's late."

"Please?" Sammy pleaded, quietly, giving him the heartbroken 'I'm your baby brother' look which Dean could never refuse. Don't give in don't give in oh no not the lip quibble uh oh don't give in don't give in-

"_Hell._" Dean exclaimed, throwing his arms up in defeat "Fine. Whatever." Sam beamed, smiling that milk-toothed smile which banished Dean's demons "But make it quick, we've gotta get back."

"Okay."

They worked together, getting the bike upright with some difficulty, and Dean was unhappy to find that the thing had no stabilisers. Great. Fantastic. If Sammy fell off and scraped something Dad would _kill _him.

"Right, first, get up onto the saddle. Here." It was a struggle; but Dean felt oddly content, lifting his little brother up till he was settled on the saddle, his scuffed feet barely brushing the ground "Alright, now put your hands on the handlebars, nice and tight. You got them?"

Dean eyed the handlebars for a moment, his own hands atop Sammy's, and was suddenly acutely aware of just how much smaller they were from his. He could barely see the edges of Sam's pink fingers behind the breadth of his own palms. He drew back. He forgot, sometimes, that Sam was only four. Somehow, he seemed so much older.

"Feet on the pedals. Well, one on the pedal, one on the ground." Dean instructed, and Sam complied, biting his lip and frowning in concentration. He was very wobbly. The bike was awkward for him, the saddle too high for his legs. Still, Dean couldn't bear to tell him no. Sam so wanted this. Dean understood.

"Now…uh…hm." Sam sat up straight, and looked expectantly at Dean, apprehensive yet obviously excited too "Just…push forwards, keep your balance and pedal." Dean slowly let go of the handlebar, feeling a mixture of worry and pride and something he couldn't define course through him "And be…you know…careful."

Sam nodded, gritted his teeth and pushed off with some difficulty. Dean hovered beside him anxiously, wincing at the squeal of oiled metal and the ominous crunch of tyre on gravel.

After a couple of seconds the bike teetered, then plummeted to the ground. Dean dived, caught Sammy around the waist and pulled him back just before the bike landed on top of his little brother. His heart beat painfully fast. Close call.

"Dean." Sam said a little irritably, and Dean looked down to find he was holding Sam so tightly to his stomach that his brother's feet were suspended above the ground. He hastily cleared his throat and lowered Sam gently, eying him for scratches or tears.

"You okay? Maybe we should just-"

"No!" Sam exclaimed firmly, to Dean's surprise "I can do it. I know I can do it."

Dean looked at him. Sammy wasn't angry, wasn't even particularly frustrated, just determined. His dark eyes danced with the thrill of the challenge as he reverently picked the bike up again and scrambled on, this time without assistance. Dean watched, and felt a lump rise in his throat inexplicably.

He watched as Sam tried time and again, and this time Dean let him fall, stood back while Sam pulled himself up and tried again, and again, every time he fell. He didn't lose his resolve, he didn't cry or scream or throw a tantrum like most other children would have by this point. He just kept on trying.

Sammy was growing up. And there was nothing Dean could do about it.

"Tell you what." He said hastily, after the sixth time Sammy had fallen hard to the ground and he couldn't stand the sight of grazed knees any longer "I'll hold you up while you get used to pedalling."

Sam considered his suggestion, a sceptical and defensive look on his face. Dean sighed and walked over to him, helped him get back up onto the saddle.

"Look, I know you want to do it yourself, but everybody needs help every now and then."

Suddenly, Sam's face broke into a grin and he nodded enthusiastically "Thanks, Dean!"

"Just…don't go too fast, okay? Take it slow." Dean wasn't sure he was talking about riding a bike anymore.

He wrapped his fingers around the back collar of Sam's pullover, keeping a firm grip, and put his other hand on the right handlebar to keep the bike steady. They shared a look, and Sammy started pedalling, Dean trotting a little to keep up with the bike. Slowly, they gained speed, and Sammy sat up straighter, a wide, toothy smile filling his face and making Dean feel stupidly good about life.

"Look, Dean, I'm doing it!" he exclaimed breathlessly, and Dean grinned proudly at him.

"You sure are, kiddo. Okay, I'm gonna let go now, you ready?"

Sam shot him a shocked and slightly frightened look, and almost stopped pedalling, suddenly unsure of himself.

"Dean, I'm-"

Dean looked him in the eye.

"You can do it." He said, firmly, without a trace of doubt. Sam hesitated, then nodded grimly and tensed, turning his eyes upon the path ahead, determined.

"Okay." Dean warned him, and let go of the handlebars first, his left hand the only thing still holding onto his little brother "Three, two, one…" He gave Sam one last encouraging push, and released his grip "Go!"

He ran alongside Sam as his brother continued to pedal furiously, this time without wobbling. He veered a little from side to side, but managed to regain control with ease. They grinned at each other, racing alongside one another for a while, before they reached a dangerous curve in the path and Dean reached out, grabbed the bike and pulled it to halt.

"Sammy, that was awesome! It took me ages to get that steady. You learn really fast."

Sam brushed his hair from his face, his cheeks flushed with exertion and eyes gleaming with excitement and pride.

"Nah, it's easy when you showed me how to do it, Dean." He wriggled his way off the bike, and they turned it about and began to wheel it back the way they came, Dean holding the left handlebar and Sam the right.

"Thanks. I couldn't have done it without you." Sammy said a little shyly, and Dean lifted his shoulder in an uncomfortable half-shrug, feigning indifference. Inside, though, he was just as exhilarated as Sammy.

"Yeah, well…you're welcome. I guess. I mean…yeah." He looked hastily elsewhere, and cleared his throat. If he had looked down at his brother, he would have seen Sammy give him a fond and very wise look, like he understood.

They walked in silence back to the railings, and Dean helped Sam padlock the bike up again. Hopefully, the little boy and his father would return to find the bike seemingly untouched, if a little more dusty than before. For a moment, they stood together, eying the magnificent ride with a shared affection.

"Come on, let's get back." Dean muttered, and they turned, heading towards the park gate, the horror of Miss Clancy and tears forgotten in their mutual success. Sammy skipped a little as they walked to keep up with Dean's longer strides.

The sun had set almost completely now, and the world was growing steadily darker. Sam huddled close to Dean, shivering a little, as the residual heat of the day faded. But they weren't afraid of the dark. Well, Dean wasn't, anyway. Because he knew what was out there, and if it came for them, he would know what to do.

There came a gentle tug on his sleeve, and he glanced down at Sam's pensive face "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam bit at his knuckles, still clutching Dean's sleeve. Dean let him and waited "Do you think, if we ask Dad, we could get a bike for ourselves?"

Dean drew a deep breath in, then let it out, slowly, his mind blank. He hated this. If he could, he would give Sam the world. But he couldn't. It was all he could do to feed Sam and clothe him and wipe his tears away when he cried, laugh with him, tried to do what Mom would have done. He was only human, Dad was only a man, and they were never meant to have a normal life. It was worse for Sam; Sam had never really known that life, and Dean felt guilty for his four years of sinful contentment.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Sam. It'd be a lot to lug around, y'know? Besides, when would we have time to ride it properly?"

Sam sighed and his shoulders slumped, but he nodded, slowly releasing his brother's sleeve. They had reached the park gate now, and passed quietly into the darkening streets, leaving the fantasy of green grass and sunlight and shared good times behind them. It was just a moment, really. Just a taste of the life that could have been.

"It's not fair." Sam said, and for the first time that day sounded his age "That we can't have stuff like that. Y'know. Normal stuff."

Dean shook his head and clapped his hand against Sam's shoulder, forcing a grin onto his aching face.

"Normal's boring. Besides…" it wasn't all bad, really. "you've got to take what you can get and smile, Sammy." Sam gazed at him intently, drinking in his words "Otherwise, there wouldn't be a single damn happy person on this crappy planet."

A streetlight flickered and died above them, and he heard Sam give a little huffy sigh. After a moment, Sam spoke:

"But Dean…I didn't have to take you. You were just there." Dean stared at him, marvelling at the simple yet wonderful logic of a child "And…I'm happy." His little brother smile the smile he only ever smiled for Dean, and tucked his small hand into Dean's larger one "I'm very happy."

Dean swallowed thickly, and didn't tighten his hold on Sam's hand, but didn't pull away either.

"I'm glad." He said, gruffly. It was all he could think of to say. Yet, somehow, he knew that Sammy understood. Sammy always did. He felt a light nudge in his side, and looked back at Sam, who was looking nervously up at him.

"Does that mean you're happy too?" He asked, seriously, and Dean blinked in surprise. It was an odd question. One not usually asked, not spoken aloud, because most people were afraid of the answer.

Dean reached deep inside himself. Was he happy?

"I suppose." Which, in Dean speak, meant _Yes, very. _Sammy searched his brother's face, then grinned, and did a little joyful jump and twirled on his heel.

"I'm glad." He said sincerely, and Dean felt the sudden need to break this suffocating weight of raw emotion that was weighing him down.

"C'mon, Captain Sappypants, I betcha I can beat you to the- " Sammy immediately took off at high speed, laughing over his shoulder "HEY! NO FAIR! SAMMY!"

He tore after his little brother, fast gaining, but let Sam keep the lead for a little while so he could think. He would keep on going. So long as Sammy kept smiling, that was enough for him.

Sammy gave a little shriek when Dean caught him, grabbing his brother around the waist and swinging him round in a circle before depositing him back on the pavement. He put his hands on his hips and grinned in triumph.

"And I win!" He struck an over the top victory pose, and Sammy giggled, dancing from foot to foot.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we get a skateboard instead?"

Uh oh…

&&&&&&&

**A/N: ATTENTION! Ok guys! I need some help from y'all: I've got several half-completed chapters and I need to know what order you want them all in. So, cast your votes! The candidates are:**

**A very Wee!chester story set just before the fire (with Mary and John)**

**Another very Wee!chester story set a couple of weeks after the fire**

**There are also two other Wee!chester snippets from my other SPN story, Telegraph Road, which I could post if anyone is interested. One involves the night of the fire from Sam's POV and another involves a sick and feverish Dean, aged nine (I'll bet Deangirl's will like that one!**

**Also, I thought I'd let you all know the line-up of other ideas, which are a mix of my own ideas and all of yours! Take a look:**

'**Two little boys and the big bad men'** Sam and Dean face off against the dreaded social worker visit

'**The importance of being Sammy** **(as opposed to Sam)'** AKA the musings of a chubby 12 year old

'**When it rains, it pours' **As requested, Sammy has a sick day! Much worry and angst for John and Dean.

'**Felling Goliath'** Sam and Dean deal with some troublesome bullies, Winchester style!

'**Swings and roundabouts' **After Dean's so-called friendsplay a nasty trick on Sam, he has to hurry to save his little brother before it's too late (that's all I'm saying! This is one of my favourites!)

'**Breaking the habit' **As requested, the morning routine of the Winchester boys, involving much toothpaste and banter!

'**Crash and burn' (**Another requested, involving a car crash!) Dean thought Sammy would be safer locked in the car. He was wrong.

'**Be a man' **An awesome suggested idea, in which John teaches Dean to shave and Dean teaches Sam!

**Whoops, sorry about the length, I'll shut up now! Thanks to y'all for reading, and please review to let me know what order you want the chapters in!**


	4. Lost in Translation

**A/N: Just so y'all know, these chapters aren't going to be in any particular chronological order, I'm just going with the flow. The summary will change every time a new chapter is posted, too!**

**Summary: Preseries, Wee!chester fic. After the fire, Dean lost his voice. While John despairs, Sammy makes it his mission to find it again. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Do I look like I have a receding hairline? (oops, sorry Kripke! That was uncalled for!)**

**I got this concept from reading extracts of Papa Winchester's diary on the official website. Oh yeah, and a huge thanks to everyone who continues to review! Thanks guys, you're the best!**

**Lost in translation**

Dean sometimes wondered if the fire had stolen his voice.

Fire burnt stuff. Fire destroyed. It was dangerous and hot and scary. And it took Mommy. It swallowed her and she didn't come back. It nearly swallowed Sammy, too. So it made sense, right? That the fire had taken his voice, too?

He didn't want to talk. If he spoke the spell would be broken and Mommy would be gone forever. But if he was good and didn't talk or fuss or be naughty or throw tantrums then maybe she'd forgive him and come back. So he couldn't talk. Not ever again. Not until Mommy came back.

"Okay, Sammy, it's okay, you're okay..."

He watched his father with dull eyes, trying to quiet a screaming Sammy. He didn't flinch at the noise. He was used to it. Sammy cried a lot, like he had a tummy bug. He knew Mommy was gone. This wasn't the worst. It was worse when he just lay still and cried quietly; tears streaming down his pink cheeks and huge eyes wide with sorrow. Sometimes, Dean wished he could cry too.

"Stop crying...please, stop crying...come on kiddo, you're changed, you're fed, what the hell's the matter? God..."

Daddy rocked and shushed and pleaded, but Sammy wouldn't stop. Instead his wail rose an octave, punctuated by gasping sobs which wracked his little body so hard Dean was scared he would fall apart. Or burn away, crumble into ashes, like Mommy. He swallowed, feeling something hot and twisty like fire curl in his gut. He didn't want Sammy to cry anymore.

_Daddy?_

He went over to Daddy and tugged at his sleeve, peering up at the writhing mass of pink baby-skin and pastel coloured clothes that was his little brother. _Sammy. _

"Hey Dean. What is it?" Daddy was exhausted, he could tell. His face was wrinkled with a deep aching tiredness and his eyes were shadowed with crescent blemishes. Dean held out his arms for Sammy. He could fix him. He knew how.

"You want to hold him?" He nodded, and swallowed thickly. Mommy had said that to him when he had first met Sammy, in a big white room with a nice clean smell "You sure? He's heavy." Yeah. Sammy was a lot smaller then. Just a little tiny bundle of redness.

Daddy carefully lowered Sammy down into his arms, not letting go until Dean had got a decent grip around the wriggling baby. Sammy's face was scrunched up and raw from crying, and Dean winced as he gathered his little brother carefully against his chest. Sammy waved his little clenched fists about, batting at Dean's shoulders, and Dean lugged Sammy higher and leaned down to put his face so close that he was nose to nose with the baby.

Immediately, Sammy swallowed his wail with a surprised gulp, eyes wide as he stared into his big brother's dark hazel ones. Dean let out a long, slow breath which caressed the baby's apple-red cheeks with cool air, and Dean felt his little brother slowly relax in his arms. Sammy's skin was hot against his own, his body a comforting weight against Dean's aching chest, and he could feel the warmth seeping through his thin night-shirt and deep inside him.

Daddy sighed heavily as the quiet settled, and lightly ruffled Dean's hair. Dean glanced up, and was confused to see a sad glimmer in his Father's eyes "Thanks kiddo."

Dean shrugged, and absently began rocking back and forth on his feet. Sammy blinked pensively up at him with sad eyes and made an odd snuffling sound before burrowing his head into Dean's shoulder. The silence stretched and became uncomfortable.

"You should be asleep, son. What time is it?"

Dean shrugged again. _Early. _Daddy gave him an exasperated look, and ran his hand over his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. Sammy cooed miserably up at Dean. Daddy was always asking him questions. Trying to get him to talk. Daddy didn't understand.

"Did you have another nightmare?"

Sammy's hair was soft and made his nose tickle, and smelt of cleanliness and baby powder. He made sure Sammy was always clean, scrubbing him and scrubbing him and scrubbing himself too, trying to get rid of the acrid smell of flame. It still clung to him. It didn't to Sammy. Sammy was warmth and responsibility and affection. Like Mommy was. Had been.

"Dean? Look at me, I'm talking to you."

Sammy hadn't grown much since then. He laughed less, cried often, and was a bit stronger. His little brother reached up a hand to grab at Dean's nose, then let out a half-hearted giggle. Dean couldn't help but smile back, even though it felt like his face would crack in two, and his breath hitched in his chest.

"Oh, son..." A large hand cupped the back of his head, teased at his hair, then clasped his shoulder. He didn't look up, didn't want to see the disappointment in Daddy's face.

"You can't keep doing this. You've got to talk to me. Understand?" Daddy's face was right up close to his now, Sam's dark eyes peering out from a wrinkled face marred with grief. Dean shuddered and drew back, clutching Sammy tighter to his chest. He would protect Sammy from becoming like Daddy. He'd do anything.

He loved Daddy. Of course he did. But…why couldn't he have done something? Daddy was big, not like Dean. Dean would have saved Mommy, he would. But Daddy had told him to save Sammy. Then gone back to save Mommy. Except Mommy hadn't come back with him. He hated to, but he blamed Daddy. Just a little bit.

Daddy wouldn't even tell him what happened. After he'd run downstairs with Sammy.

"You can't keep all this...inside of you. It's going to _kill _you." Daddy said, firmly, and Dean shied away. Sammy's face scrunched up and his eyes welled, sensing the misery in the room, and Dean rocked him, made silent shushing noises, his lips a soundless 'o' shape.

Daddy heaved a deep, shaky sigh, and leant against the doorframe.

"Did you eat anything today?"

Dean kept his eyes on Sammy, and shrugged his shoulders a little_ Couple o' wheeties._ He didn't like to eat. Besides, Sammy might run out of food, and then what? Mommy would be angry if she came back to find Sammy all thin.

"_Dean._"

Yeah. She'd be angry. She would. But Daddy said…Mommy wasn't coming back. But he was wrong. He was joking. Because Mommy wouldn't just leave like that.

"Great." Daddy slammed his fist against the wall, hard, and Dean flinched "Great. Fantastic." He hissed, and Sammy whimpered quietly "Wait right there and watch Sammy. I'll get you some milk and cereal."

Dean shook his head wildly, moved Sammy so he had one hand free, and pointed at his stomach _Not hungry._

"You're eating it, and that's final."

_I'll be sick. _But Daddy had already left, and he and Sammy stood alone, Dean shaking a little. Feeling unsteady on his feet, he stumbled awkwardly over to the motel bed, put Sammy down on the greasy covers, then scrambled up onto it himself. For a moment, he lay quietly, eyes closed, shuddering.

After a moment, he felt hot little fingers probe his cheeks, and peeked open his eyes to see an inquisitive Sammy, head tilted to the side, looking at him inquiringly.

"Deeee." Sammy cooed morosely, and Dean blinked in surprise, and sat up. Huh. Sammy often made noises. In fact, whenever he wasn't crying he tended to babble endlessly, sometimes to Dean, sometimes to nothing in particular. But it never sounded like it was an actual attempt at speech.

Dean crawled closer to his little brother, and flopped down on his stomach, lying flat out on the bed. Sammy eyed him sadly, kicked his legs, opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again:

"Dee, Dee." He slurred, then frowned, kicked his legs hard, and said almost demandingly "**DEE**!"

Seeing the signs of oncoming distress, Dean sat up hastily and pulled Sammy into his lap, lacing his fingers together behind the baby's back to hold him upright. Sammy pouted reproachfully at him, and Dean felt a sudden pressure that had built in his chest slowly fade.

_Hey Sammy. Whadd'ya want? _He found that it was easier to talk to Sammy. Sammy looked at him without judgement, without demand, and always listened, and that was a comfort. Sometimes, he was sure that Sammy could understand him, even though he didn't speak aloud.

"Adaee?" Sam cooed questioningly, gently batting his hands against Dean's chest. Dean was under the distinct question the baby had just asked him a question, and expected an answer.

A million words rose in his throat, got stuck, and were swallowed. He shook his head, his throat stinging, his head feeling heavy and thick. He wondered vaguely if all the words he'd lost had somehow gotten into Sammy, making him talk instead.

_M'sorry, Sammy. That I don't talk. Daddy didn't mean it, y'know. Don't be mad. _

Sammy blinked twice, then raised his arms with obvious meaning. Dean wrapped his arms around his little brother and tugged him up onto his shoulder. He drew a deep breath, and sniffed a little._ I don't wanna eat, Sammy. My tummy gets all twisty. I can't swallow. An' I can't talk to nobody, my throat gets prickly and stuck._

Sammy made a sympathetic noise, which rumbled in his little chest and vibrated against Dean's shoulder. It was oddly comforting.

_Cept you. You understand, don' you? Even if it's in my head. _

"Dee, ummy…" The baby drew back from Dean's shoulder and gazed into his brother's face, expression comically serious "ada mee mee?"

Dean stared in surprise. That almost counted as an actual question, with different words and everything. Too bad it was gobbledegook Sammy-speak.

_Hey, you're actually talkin' to me, aren't you? _He chucked Sammy under the chin fondly, and the baby giggled and squirmed in delight at the tickly sensation _You're a silly baby, Sammy._

"Mee no…see-lee!" Sammy squawked indignantly, and Dean frowned. From the other room came the sound of clattering footsteps, cupboards opening and closing, milk being poured. Rustling. His stomach ached suddenly, and he wished desperately that Daddy would just listen to him. Would understand.

_Mommy would know what to do. Wha' should I do, Sammy?_

"Adaee…dee…"

Sammy's face suddenly twisted in determination, and he scrambled up Dean's shoulder. Dean stared in fascination as Sammy hesitantly pressed his palms against Dean's lips, his large dark eyes huge in his round face.

"Shhh shhh Dee. Shhhh shhhhh." The baby squirted the noise between his lips, evidently trying to say something important, but Dean shook his head despairingly.

_Sorry, Sammy. I don' understand you._ Dean blinked, suddenly aware that he had mouthed the words without meaning to. Sammy was staring hard at Dean's mouth, features scrunched up in concentration.

"Smmeee…?" He mimicked, uncertainly, and nibbled at the tips of his fingers before Dean gently pulled them away. Sammy had teeth now, and wasn't entirely aware of how dangerous they could be.

"Sss…sa…sa?" Sammy pursed his lips, and bounced nervously up and down in Dean's arms, repeating the syllable over and over.

Dean opened his mouth, and the silent words moved his lips like a puppeteer _What are you trying to say, Sammy?_

"Sa-meee." Sam jabbed his curled fists against his own chest, and Dean understood, and the smallest of smiles curled his thin lips. He nodded and flicked his little brother's nose to a squeal of delight _Yeah. That's your name, that's you. You're Sammy._

"Sa-mee an Dee." The baby gurgled proudly, wriggling about while Dean simply sat still and waited.

"Ada." Sammy said eventually, and waved sticky fingers towards the room where Daddy was. Dean nodded, smiled a little. Sammy grinned his baby grin and waved his arms at the ceiling enthusiastically "Mo-meee."

Dean froze. A cold feeling curled itself in his chest and filled his stomach with a leaden, icy feeling. Sammy's face fell as Dean bit down on his lip, hard, and shook his head violently _No, Sammy. Mommy's gone. She's..._

Suddenly, he was shaking. His chest grew tight and he found to his horror that he couldn't breathe. The bed tilted violently beneath him and black spots swam before his eyes. Sammy slipped from his arms with a surprised squeak as he pitched heavily sideways, his entire body convulsing uncontrollably.

"Dee?" Came a highly distressed voice, and Dean could feel hands anxiously patting his face "Dee! Dee-dee-dee!" Dean forced his eyes open just as Sammy opened his mouth wide and began to wail loudly with his big brother. Dean was horrified to feel hot tears streaming down his own face.

_I'm scaring Sammy._

It was this revelation that finally snapped him back to his senses. He drew in a deep, whooping breath of air and gasped, choking on it. His baby brother continued to cry miserably, his face screwed up in terror and shock.

Once the shaking had subsided a little, Dean reached out and unsteadily gathered Sammy back into his lap, and the baby curled himself next to Dean's stomach and clenched handfuls of Dean's shirt in his chubby fists. After a moment Dean realised his baby brother was trembling, and he feel Sammy's heart fluttering a mile a minute against his abdomen. He swallowed, and tugged Sammy closer to him, mouthing wordlessly. _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry._

For long minutes they simply sat, gulping down air, until they eventually descended into exhausted quiet.

"Deeeeeeee." Came a muffled whimper from somewhere below him, and Dean put a hand on his brother's hair and closed his eyes.

_S'okay Sammy. You're okay. We'll be okay. I'm gonna look after you like Daddy said._

The baby stared mournfully up at him, before scrambling up so he was sitting on Dean's legs "Dee kay?"

_M' better. A little. Sorry I scared you, little guy. _Dean nodded absently, and held out his little fingers so Sammy could play the grabbing game. To his surprise, the baby simply curled his fingers around Dean's and held on instead of playing the usual 'snatch and miss' fiasco.

"Dee-ee." Sammy made an odd noise, a noise that was all at once contented, relieved, affectionate and somehow comforting "Dee an Sa-mee kay."

_Thanks, Sammy._

"Dee."

_I...love you too._

The door creaked open, and Daddy came stumbling in, milk sloshing over the edge of a grubby breakfast bowl he held "Are you boys alright?" Dean considered, watched Sammy tentatively nibble on the tip of his little finger, and gently pulled the digit from the baby's grasp. He wiped his hand on the bed cover and nodded.

"Good." Daddy said, simply, and put the breakfast bowl down on the bedside table. Dean glared at it, Sammy made an inquisitive noise and Daddy fluffed the pillow at the top of the bed and drew the covers back "Dean, sit up here."

Dean found he couldn't move. Daddy sighed, leant down and picked him up like he was still a baby. He wriggled indignantly, but found when Daddy deposited him against the pillow and pulled the covers up over his legs, he didn't want him to let go.

"Get under the covers. There." Daddy muttered, and picked up the ugly breakfast bowl and balanced it carefully in Dean's lap. He wrinkled his nose and pushed it away, and Daddy shot him a warning look.

"Careful with it, you'll spill it." Sammy, having had enough of being ignored, rolled onto his tummy and crawled his way across the planes of the covers like an intrepid explorer. He plonked himself down next to his big brother on the bed and reached for the bowl. Daddy shook his head and pulled it out of reach "No, squirt, this is for your brother. No eating, okay?"

Sammy tilted his head to the side, then said solemnly "Kay ada."

Daddy looked surprised, then tiredly pleased, and ruffled Sammy's hair "That's my boy." Then he glanced up at Dean.

Dean eyed the contents of the bowl with unveiled distaste. The wheeties were soaked in milk which gave off a sour smell, and trapped air bubbled unpleasantly around the flaking edges of the hoop-shaped cereal. His stomach turned over and he winced, twisting his fingers in the bed sheets.

"Dean, do you need some help?" Daddy moved to pick up the spoon, but both he and Dean were surprised when Sammy snatched it first, a silly, beaming smile plastered across his face. Before Daddy could bark a reprimand the baby exclaimed:

"Sa-mee elp!"

Dean watched, slightly nonplussed, as Sammy picked out a dripping wheetie with elaborate care and dropped it into the pit of the spoon. He then held it out to Dean, who simply sat, dumbstruck. When he got no reaction the baby pouted, then, seemingly struck by an idea, slowly popped the spoon into his mouth and swallowed, all the while keeping eye contact with his big brother. He then smacked his lips together loudly, grinned, and rubbed his tummy with his free hand.

"See Dee? Yee-um um!" He cooed, waving the spoon about for emphasis. Daddy winced as flecks of milk went flying, but for some reason, didn't try to stop Sammy. Dean couldn't help the smile that curled his lips.

Encouraged by his brother's reaction, Sammy excitedly loaded another wheetie into the spoon, and clambered to his knees with great care not to spill any more milk, a comical frown on his face. Then he grinned, and held the spoon to Dean's lips, uttering an encouraging "Aaaaah!"

Mommy used to do that. Make the funny 'aaah' sound to get Dean to open his mouth and swallow. He had thought it was silly, would laugh, and while his mouth was open Mommy would sneakily put the food in his mouth.

Dean smiled a little, looked at his little brother's smiling yet slightly anxious face, holding the food out to him like a gift. The cool metal of the spoon felt soothing against his lips, and without thinking, he opened his mouth and let it slip inside. He looked at Daddy, who was smiling sadly, eyes over-bright. He looked at Sammy, saw the concern and apprehension in the baby's face.

He swallowed, winced a little as the slush slid down his throat, but found to his surprise that he didn't choke it up.

Sammy made a little whooping sound and clapped his hands together in disjointed applause, bouncing excitedly up and down and making the bed jiggle. Dean felt an odd, cool relief fill him and a damn burst, and he found himself laughing shakily despite the tightness in his stomach. No, an ache. Hungry. He felt…hungry.

He gently took the spoon from Sammy and silently began to eat, wheetie after wheetie passing unhindered into his mouth. It got easier to swallow with every spoon, and soon he found himself going faster, swallowing and spooning in a quick successive rhythm. Daddy sat down on the bed, wiped at his face and made a weird choking sound somewhere between laughter and tears.

Sammy simply sat and watched his brother eat attentively, an expression of content and slight smugness lighting up his young face. Minutes passed in comfortable silence, and eventually, the spoon clanged hollowly against an empty bowl, and Dean's stomach felt pleasantly filled.

Daddy ruffled his hair affectionately "Great work, Dean. I'm...real proud of you."

Dean blinked in surprise, went to nod, then stopped. He felt…lighter. His chest felt warm, his throat was free and unobstructed. He breathed slowly and easily, and for the first time in six months, felt _safe._

Hesitantly, he opened his mouth, took a breath, tried to force it up, and choked a little. Then, an entirely foreign voice, a voice he had not heard in six months, broke the silence:

"D..ad?"

He shakily held up the empty bowl to his dumbfounded Father, while Sammy sat very still, awestruck, waiting.

"C-can I...have some...m-more?" He stuttered out, breathlessly, his throat feeling sore from this sudden exertion.

Sammy squealed loudly in delight and clapped his hands furiously, kicking his legs in celebration.

"Dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, DEE!" The baby abruptly half-tackled his big brother, diving into Dean's lap, still giggling madly. Dean smiled back, caught Sammy's wildly waving hands in his own, sure that his little brother would throw himself off the bed in his jubilance.

Daddy took the bowl, smiling a true smile, a genuine happiness filling his face and making him look years younger "Sure, son."

Absorbed with a lapful of excited little brother, Dean didn't notice the slight falter in his Father's step as he headed towards the door, or the way his face fell. John Winchester glanced over his shoulder, watched Dean's drawn, pinched face light up as Sammy bounced excitedly in his lap.

John could save Dean from the peril of a burning building; carry him away and shield him from the world. But only Sammy could stop Dean from destroying himself.

**A/N: Wow, that was a quick update, even for me! I hope everyone enjoyed the season finale the other night! I've only seen bits of it, unfortunately. ****Thanks for reading, please review!**


	5. Swings and Roundabouts

**A/N: As ever, huge thanks to those who reviewed! I must say that I am enjoying writing this story more than I have in a long time, and it's all thanks to you guys! Keep it up!**

**Summary: Preseries, Wee!chester fic. By the time the party was over, Sammy was gone and Dean would never be a teenager again. **

**Disclaimer: Tis not mine. I tried selling my soul for it but the deal demon said I had to ask Kripke first. Lame.**

**A WARNING: This chapter contains OC's! Crafty, evil, mean, crudely constructed OC's! You have my assurances that these scum of the earth are only present to aid the plot, and NOT as a long term and exceedingly annoying love interest!**

**(clears throat) Anyway…**

**Swings and roundabouts**

It was eerily quiet out here. Hollowly still. Just the echoing resound of a confident pair of well worn boots, and the soft pitter-patter of too-small sneakers following on behind. The sidewalk was the typical grubby silvery-grey, dappled with a flickering yellow glow whenever they passed under a streetlamp.

They were going slow; but there was no hurry. Sixteen year old Dean Winchester hooked his thumbs into the belt holders at his hips and allowed the weight of his arms to sink, slumping his shoulders. Behind him came the soft hitch of a breath and the smallest of sighs.

"Are you mad at me?"

Dean halted in his steps and turned slowly to regard his pursuer with indifferent eyes. He shrugged one shoulder briefly, spun on his heel and cocked an eyebrow.

"Why should I be?" he said, tone light yet expressionless. His younger brother frowned at him from under a concealing, low-slung mop of brown hair, and seemed to consider Dean for a moment. Then, he shook his head and shoved his hands forcefully into his jeans pockets.

"I dunno." He muttered, mimicking the cool indifference of his older brother. Dean looked disdainfully at him. Sam was wearing a scuffed pair of sneakers, jeans with holes and frays in the knees, and an old hoodie with sleeves that encompassed the entirety of the eleven year old's hands. The kid's hair needed cutting, too.

"Hm." Dean huffed, feeling inexplicably uncomfortable as he turned and continued to walk . For once, he had actually made an effort for his appearance. He had gelled his hair up, washed his face, donned a clean pair of pants and a vaguely new shirt. Which wasn't exactly dressed-to-impress material, but by Winchester standards he was practically in a tuxedo.

"So…what…" Sam trotted a few steps to catch up with him, casting wary eyes around as though he expected the shadows to jump out at him "what kind of party is this?"

Dean almost faltered in his step, but managed to retain his gait. Now, that was a good question. What kind of party? Who the hell knew? He hadn't asked questions. It was a party, with girls, at a house. The girl who had invited him…well, to be honest, he had been too busy checking her out to listen properly. But she was one of those clueless, rich sort of girls; not the type to throw a wild do.

"It's just a party, Sam." He said, resignedly. What had Todd said? Second street on the right past this one? Yeah, there was the corner shop.

It wasn't like he'd planned to bring Sam along; in fact, he had assumed exactly the opposite. For once, Dad had been home researching and so Dean was free to go where he wished for one blessed night of freedom. Not that he didn't enjoy looking after Sam…

That was a lie.

Well, sort of. He still enjoyed the time he spent with his brother. Just…not as much as he used to. They were at an awkward stage, he and Sam. Right back where they'd started. In the beginning, there had been a tiny baby and his big, brave protector. Then, for years, they had been practically mutual; two little boys growing up together, and despite the age gap, they'd got on well.

Now, though…there was less need for a big, brave protector. Sam didn't need a bodyguard; he just wanted a brother. And Dean was afraid of that. Afraid that if he took away the purpose, that there would be nothing left between them.

"I could…" Sam hesitated, swallowed, brushed his fringe from his eyes, looking sheepish "You know. Just…not come. You didn't want me to come, anyway."

Dean didn't deny it. The terrible beast that was puberty had struck a wedge between them that no wendigo or ghost ever could have. With teenage hood came a re-shuffle of priorities; suddenly, there were girls. Popularity. Loud music and stretching the boundaries of society.

Dean knew Sam resented being seen as a tag-along. He was independent, in his way. He gave Dean his space. But they were no longer on a level. They didn't talk, couldn't talk, with the ease they used to. Dean felt something hot turn in his stomach, but pushed it down with dismissal.

"You have to come." He muttered, kicking at a crack in the pavement which Sam hopped neatly over "Dad said-"

_Sorry, Dean, a call just came up on the police scanner. I've gotta go. _

_But Dad, I was gonna go out tonight!_

_You'll have to take Sammy with you if you want to go out. Either that, or don't go at all._

"I know." Sam muttered darkly, hunching his shoulders, his whole body tensing up. Dean looked at him sharply. Ah. Dad. Of course.

The other biggest development in the family Winchester dynamic, was the problem of Sam and Dad. Or lack thereof. Sam had always been one for asking questions. But always to Dean, who could talk him down from it. Dad didn't have the patience. He'd tell Sam it wasn't his concern. Sam would just ask why. Dad got angry, Sam got mad, one thing led to another and it usually ended with Dad downing another bottle and Sammy curled under the covers pretending he wasn't crying, in the same way Dean pretended it didn't hurt him, either.

"I don't get why I can't just stay by myself." Sam said moodily, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, his hair concealing his face "I'm eleven and nine months."

Eleven and nine months. Hm. When Dean was eleven and nine months, he knew how to handle a shotgun better than most grown men. He spent half the day avoiding the world and the other half protecting Sam from it. By eleven and nine months, Dean had already killed a total of six times. Dean felt worlds apart from that boy. The boy who'd live only for Sam's smiling face and the occasional pat on the head from his Father. Content.

_But now I want more. _

And there it was again. That flare, that stab of terrible heat. Resentment. Anger. Longing. He swallowed thickly, heart banging against his ribs, cold twisting in the pit of his stomach. Guilt. Oh God, guilt.

"Dean?" A small hand on his arm. He shrugs away, shook his head, and something like hurt flashes in Sammy's eyes. He tries to tell himself he's not sorry. That Sam's not a little kid anymore, that he needs to toughen up.

"What?" He mumbles, and it doesn't come out as gentle as he'd like. He curses silently to himself. Pushes the weight down. It's wrong. It's all wrong, he's wrong. Nothing is like it used to be. Everything's changing.

"You…um…" Sam trails off, looking at him with an almost unreadable expression. Almost. His dark eyes shine with some deep level of confusion, and yet understanding. He eventually lets out a small breath, and looks away "Nothing."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, before Sam spoke again "It's Thursday, right?"

Dean frowned. Where was this going? "Uh huh. So?"

"So couldn't we just…" Sam straightened up suddenly, did a little jump to get a few steps ahead of Dean, his dark eyes lighting up "I don't know. Do stuff together? You always said Thursday was movie night. There's that new movie…Monster Truck! I'd like to see it."

Dean considered it. Yeah. It would be fun to go. He and Sam could sit and throw popcorn at stuck-up rich kids, and snigger at the cliché plot of the movie, discuss whether the concept of a possessed truck would actually work in comic seriousness. They'd be allies, there. The only two people in the theatre that fully understood each other.

_Dude, you cart that kid everywhere. What's up with that? Haven't you got anyone better to hang out with? _

On the other hand, he could go with a girl. Grab a quick one in the back row, in the dark of the theatre, the thrill of secrecy behind the seats and an escape from the reality that only existed in other people's nightmares. Sammy. Passion in the back row. Little brother. Responsibility, escape.

He didn't know. _Shit. _He didn't know what he wanted anymore. He looked down at Sam's excited face, practically glowing with anticipation, and felt sick to his stomach.

"Maybe tomorrow." He said, trying desperately to ignore the way Sam's face fell, the way he seemed to shrink back into his too-big clothes and fall behind Dean again. Girls at a party. Alcohol. He needed a drink. Badly.

"Oh." Sam murmured flatly, and they both pretended they couldn't hear the shake in it "Okay."

It wasn't. It wasn't okay. He shouldn't have to do this, shouldn't even have to think about it. Sammy came first. Sammy had always come first. And that had been okay. It had been fucking _fine. _But now…he didn't know. Couldn't decide. He'd had a taste of something else and now what he had felt bitter.

"Where was Dad going tonight?" Sam asked, and Dean shrugged for what felt like the twentieth time.

"He didn't say."

"Yes he did. You just don't want to tell me."

"You don't need to know."

Dean could practically feel the heat of Sam's glare searing into the back of his skull, but he bore it with an impassive dignity. They had now turned into a long, well-lit side road which was lined on either side with identical, looming, how-was-your-day-honey houses. Dean felt something prickle down his spine, and he tensed. He could hear the far off thump of loud music and the tinny shriek of a good time.

"I don't want to go to this party." Sam said, sullenly. It wasn't really a plea, or a question, or even an accusation. Just a statement. Nonetheless, it was enough to call up that terrible heat in Dean's stomach.

"Don't be selfish, Sammy."

Sam looked at Dean as though he had slapped him across the face.

"Yo, Dean, ma man! Ya made it!" Came a slurred yell from across the street, and both brothers turned sharply.

Swaggering towards them were two teenagers, a boy and a girl about Dean's age. The boy was tall and well built, with short blonde hair and a square sort of face. His skin was bronzed and his expression seemed plain enough, but something quietly malicious seemed to glint in his eyes.

The girl was a petite, dark haired affair with a face caked in make-up and ill-fitting clothing. _Purposefully _ill-fitting, the material stretched so tight in places that the seams seemed fit to burst, and unattractively loose in others.

Sam shrank behind his brother as they drew closer; Dean heaved the tiniest of sighs which thankfully went unnoticed "Hey Todd." He nodded curtly to the boy, then turned to the girl "Gracia."

Gracia giggled behind bitten, chipped red nails, and Sam watched in fascination as a bent-looking eyelash fell away when she blinked, along with a tiny shower of flakes of mascara. The boy, Todd, waltzed over to Dean and clapped hard on the shoulder. Perhaps a little too hard, Sam thought, eying the boy's tight smile and his tense posture.

"So, have ya heard?" Todd said thickly, slinging an arm around Dean's shoulders and breathing foul, bitter breath in his face "Kyle said there was gonna be some crazy shit tonight. He's got hold o' some real hard stuff. It's gonna be wild!"

Dean raised his eyebrows and tried to look interested, when he felt a tug on the back of his shirt "Dean?" Sam was frowning up at him, his expression accusing and a little betrayed "What crazy shit?"

Dean winced. The words sounded vulgar coming from Sam's mouth "Sam, shut up. And don't say…that word. Dad'll kill me."

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but a high-pitched squeal cut him off, and Gracia scuttled around Dean to peer adoringly down at his wide-eyed little brother.

"Oh my Goood, who's the doll?" She cooed, wiggling about in delight. She leaned down close to Sam, who glared openly at her, shying away "Aw, Dean, he's sooo cute! How old are you, little guy?"

Wrinkling his nose at the baby-voice she was speaking in, Sam backed away as she reached for his face, making to pet his hair. Quite suddenly she grabbed him and held him flush to her stomach, still babbling about how adorable he was. Sam smelled something sweet and yet sour in her clothes, like cigarette smoke but different, and felt faintly nauseous.

Dean snatched Sam back with a force which sent his brother's head reeling, then checked himself. Gracia blinked in surprise, her expression twisting from besotted to offended. Dean avoided her eye, muttered an apology, tried to shake it off with a sheepish smile. Todd's face darkened.

"It's not nice to not answer a lady's question." Gracia said delicately, addressing Sam, who was hovering close to Dean's side. Sam flushed deep red, his cheeks filling with blood, and Dean would have mistaken it as embarrassment if he hadn't noticed the way Sam's fists clenched at his side. Weird. His little brother was…_angry_, for some reason.

"Not a lady." Sam muttered, a cold venom in his voice, and Dean was surprised. What the hell was all this about? "And I'm not cute. I'm eleven."

There was an awkward silence. Sam seemed to suddenly become aware of himself and deflated, shuffling his feet nervously. He stood between Dean and Gracia, not looking at either, and eventually Dean cleared his throat and tapped Sam on the shoulder.

"C'mon, Sam. You shouldn't be rude." It was an empty reprimand, and they all knew it. Todd barged his way between the seeming standoff, giving both brothers the beady eye. He looked intensely first at Dean, then at Sam. The eleven year old hastily backed up, right into Dean, who steadied him.

"Sam, quit that." He murmured, then returned Todd's gaze firmly "He won't cause any trouble, Todd."

For what felt like an eternity, they simply stared unblinkingly at each other. Gracia had folded her arms defensively in front of her, and watched the proceedings with deep lines set in her forehead. Dean's hands clutched his brother's shoulders tightly.

Eventually, Todd broke away from Dean's gaze and shrugged "Eh, it's your call. Whatever." Gracia hooked her arm through his, and they began to walk away. Gracia called stiffly over her shoulder: "We'll seeya at the gig."

They watched them go in silence. The far off thrum of the party had grown wilder now, and Dean could hear the distinctive wail of excited shrieks. He shivered, excited. Daring. Danger. He could practically smell it in the air.

"Dean." But there was Sam. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. It couldn't be. If there was trouble Sam could - "I really don't want to go."

_What the fuck are you, Winchester, a Daddy's boy? Fucking whipped. Yer jus' a retarded freak after all. _

"Sam…" He couldn't just _take _that! Every single other time, he'd just turned his back, become an outcast, focussed on Sammy and Dad. But he had to do it. Just once, to try. To see whether he really could…fit in. And after…"Look. I haven't gotten out all week. I need this. I need some time to…" Get some release. Re-arrange my entire reason and philosophy for being. Get laid. "anyway. Just for a couple of hours. Okay?"

Sam looks at him for a long moment, then, finally, nods. "Okay." They begin to follow after Todd and Gracia, Sam's arms folded tightly across his chest. He looked like he had swallowed a lemon as he glares at their retreating figures "I don't like them. Especially _her_."

Dean saw the rift between he and the pair widen, looked down to see Sam huddling close to him. "Wanna know something?" He grinned "I don't, either."

Sam's face split into a dimpled smile, and for a long moment they simply stood, alone, yet allied, facing the rest of the world defiantly. Slowly, Dean's smile wavered, then fell. Yes, for now, they were together. United still by that thread of responsibility, of waning affection. But misunderstanding and change were wearing that thread thinner by the day.

Dean swallowed, and the presence of Sam so close felt suddenly stifling. He'd have to choose. Sometime, somehow, he'd be faced with an inescapable choice: Sammy…or himself?

&&&&&&&

**A/N: This chapter was kinda uneventful, but I needed to set the stage for the big act! MASSIVE apologies for this being such a short chapter! I have six very important exams next week and am kinda stressed. But I thought you'd like to see what I've managed to get done! **

**As an apology, I give you a sneak preview of the next (coughunwrittencough) chapter:**

"_**Sweetie, I'm sure it's safe." Gracia leant casually against a scaffolding pole, demonstrating how sturdy it was "After all, Dean wouldn't have told you to do something if he didn't know it was safe, right?" She leant down, her cleavage wobbling horribly in his face, her eyes filled with what seemed to be sincerity "You trust your brother, don't you?"**_

_**Sam snapped immediately to the defensive "Of course I do!" he proclaimed, folding his arms resolutely over his chest. He and Dean may fight sometimes, but his big brother would never let anything happen to him. Never ever ever in a million trillion years plus one. **_

_**Todd grinned, grabbed a nearby ladder and let it drop against the platform above, where it emitted a loud clang which made Sam wince "Well then." He gestured languidly upwards "Up you go."**_

**Hope it'll get you all in the mood! Anyway. Thanks for reading, please review! I've a feeling this story might last a few chapters, maybe two or three.**


End file.
